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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27868085">Bad Girl</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSalemBitchTrials/pseuds/TheSalemBitchTrials'>TheSalemBitchTrials</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hello Charlotte (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Awkward Sexual Situations, BDSM, Dark Comedy, Forced Relationship, Gen, M/M, Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Pedophilia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:27:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,242</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27868085</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSalemBitchTrials/pseuds/TheSalemBitchTrials</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Eyler is a depressed young man who jumps at the chance to meet his idol Vincent Fennell who he met online. Vincent Fennell is coming to his school as a transfer student. He's pretty excited about the entire thing. Finally! A buddy who will hang out with him and Charlotte,  the school outcasts. Maybe he'll even give him tips on how to ask out Henrietta Warhol, a girl he's had his eye on for a while but never had the guts to speak to like he promised. Except Mr. Fennell turns out to be far, far more different than anyone expected.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Charles Eyler/Vincent Fennell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>      It was a tense Sunday afternoon.  Charles Eyler wasn't looking forward to going to school tomorrow and furthermore he was bored. He was running out of ideas for his fanfiction. He couldn't go outside because it was snowy and bitterly cold. And furthermore no one was online to chat. </p><p>      Charlotte was typically online but lately she'd been to sick to get out of bed. It wasn't like he could really blame her. He was feeling under the weather himself. But Anri wasn't on either. In fact, she hadn't been on discord since he shyly sent her a message about watching anime with him at his house next Friday after school. <em>I bet I was too direct and creeped her out,</em> he thought to himself. Nor was C, a popular writer on a03 who he'd spoken to lately who he idolized. Of course, he didn't expect C to speak to him anyway. He probably had more important things to do.</p><p>    Suddenly,  there was a little "ping!" from his phone. Charles unlocked his cellphone out of curiosity.  It was from C! <em>No freaking way!</em> he thought. He glanced down at the screen:</p><p>C: Hello there, Charles.</p><p>Charles: Oh hey there man. How goes it?</p><p>C: Oh, not much. But there's something I want to tell you about. </p><p>Charles: Eh? what?</p><p>C: It turns out I'm moving soon. You know how you said you wanted to meet in real life? And how we exchanged addresses so we could mail cards to each other on the holidays? Well, my parents are moving me to a place in your town soon.</p><p>Charles: No fucking way, man! That's so cool! I don't have a lot of friends but maybe you can hang out with me and Charlotte when you move in.</p><p>C: Maybe. I'd prefer to hang out one on one. But there's a special friend of mine I want you to to meet.</p><p>Charles: A friend? Who?</p><p>C: Well, he's an older man. I call him Umbrella Man.</p><p>Charles: What a strange name....I suppose I'm open to it. What school are you going to?</p><p>C: Schnell Academy</p><p>Charles: No way! That's where me and Charlotte go. Maybe we'll be in the same class!</p><p> </p><p>     At that moment, though, Charles stopped typing.  He heard a small noise behind him like a cough. Suddenly the color drained from  his face. He knew that cough. He quickly minimized the screen and turned around.  There was his elder sister, Scarlett Eyler, towering over him and glaring down judgemental.</p><p>     "Oh...hi, Scarlett," he said nervously. "Hmph. Talking to that C guy again? What? Are you in love with him or something?"she said. "What? No, you've got the wrong idea. He's just a friend of mine!" "That's what they all say, you faggot," she snarked. She pinched the bridge of his noise and smacked him on the head with his keyboard. Charles shrieked and covered his face with his hands.</p><p>    Scarlett put the keyboard back down and sneered at him. "Also, I saw what you typed to Anri. I see everything. Your attempts to flirt with Warhol are pathetic. You really think she'd go for your pathetic shut-in ass?" She said. Not even waiting for his response, she slammed the door in his face. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     Charles arrived at school the next day looking very exhausted and sleep deprived. He was in home room and on one side of him was Q84, on the other, Charlotte Wiltshire herself. Charlotte frowned. "Charles....what happened to your face?" She said quietly. Charles had been in a dissociative haze since Scarlett had whacked him with his own keyboard. "Huh?" He asked.</p><p>    From behind him he heard Q grumbling. "How do you not notice your own black eye? Geez," she huffed. Charles raised a hand to the left side of his face which ached dully. "Ow," he said quietly. His hand came away red and sticky. Charlotte began to look very nervous. "Do you remember how you got hit?" She asked. She grabbed her hoodie that she had knotted around her waist, wrapped her waterbottle in it and held it to Charles' head.</p><p>    He sighed in relief. "Th-thanks, Char. You're the best. No...no I don't, come to think of it. I just woke up with it like this. I don't remember what happened at all," he mumbled. "M-maybe we should take him to the nurse, Q," she said. Q84 shook her head. "The nurses here are useless," she said with a dark look on her face, "They probably won't even look at the guy even though he could have a mild concussion. Trust me, I know." She pulled a bottle of ibuprofen from her sleeve, popped off the lid, and shook out two. "It's all I can do for now," she said, "Tell no one."</p><p>    Charles thanked Q84 and downed the pills as discreetly as he could. He hoped Henry Warhol, Anri's little brother who sat a few rows behind him wouldn't see. The boy had a known reputation for being a tattletale and got really nasty towards any boy who showed an interest in Anri. Though he hadn't said a thing about liking her to anyone but Charlotte, Henry just seemed to know by the way he glared at Charles whenever he caught him talking with Anri.</p><p>    That was when Charles began to recall his conversation from the previous night with C. "Oh! I got great news by the way, Char!" He said. Charlotte seemed concerned. "What? You getting your face smashed in is great news?" Q quipped, taking a swig from a bottle of "water" that was actually vodka. "No, no, no, you don't get it? Guess who's going to be going to our scho-"</p><p>     The classroom quieted down once the homeroom teacher, Ms. Siewick, stepped in. She was a stern, formidable woman with a thin face, a black bob, and long, red fingernails that no one wanted to cross. Not even Bennett, the hyperactive prankster of the class had the guts to bother her. Today, she looked even more agitated than usual.</p><p>     "Enough chatter from you children. Sit up straight and listen or else your parents will hear about this!" she snapped. Everyone did as they were told. Ms. Siewick looked for a moment as if she was about to go on with her typical daily speech about organization and how disappointed she was in all of them until her eyes rested upon Charles who was tapping his fingers on the side of the desk. It was a nervous habit of his and Ms. Siewick's presence alone drove his untreated anxiety through the roof. </p><p>    She clapped her hands in his face, causing him to freeze. "Y-yes?" He said nervously. "What have I told you about Quiet Hands, Mr. Eyler?" She said. She took Charles' hands and pressed them together so that they were clasped, as if in prayer. "Right...right....quiet hands," he mumbled face flushing in embarrassment and looking away. Ms. Siewick grabbed him under the chin and jerked his face upwards so that he was forced to look her in the eye. "Enunciate when you speak to me," she said, "Look me in the eye and say "yes, ma'am." </p><p>    Charles did as he was told and looked into the teacher's pitch black eyes. "Y-yes ma'am," he said. "I'm docking your points today for disrespect, Mr. Eyler," Ms. Siewick said, "Everyone starts out the day with a perfect ten, but after that display? I'm docking you to a five. You're eating lunch by yourself today. Any more disrespect will earn you detention. You show nearly as much disrespect as that Wiltshire girl!"</p><p>     Charlotte frowned and blanched at her name being called out. She frequently had to eat by herself, too. She, Charles, Q84 and sometimes Anri were known as the classes' "problem children". Charles was pretty irritated at this point. As usual, when he was angry his face went red. "Hey, don't talk about my friend like that!" He said. </p><p>    Ms. Siewick smacked him across the face with the clipboard she used to take attendance. Charlotte reached out to try and stop her but wasn't quite fast enough. The sudden exertion caused her to start coughing again. "That's it! Automatic zeros for you both! I'll be talking to your parents for lying your hands on a teacher, Miss Wiltshire. Q84,  I heard what you called me under your breath. I saw that look you gave me, Ms. Warhol. Lunch in isolation for all of you. Such disrespect, in front of such an important new student,  too! What is wrong with you, today? You're acting like dogs!"</p><p>     Felix looked up from his chemistry book and raised his hand. There were a whole string of nasty words he wanted to call that bitch but he didn't want her calling his parents again. He kept a neutral expression on his face, though it was quite a struggle. "Yes, Mr. Honniker?" Ms. Siewick asked. "We have a new student?" He asked, "Who is it?"</p><p>     Ms. Siewick strolled back up to the front if the class and took her seat behind her desk. "Thank you for asking, Mr. Honniker," she said, "I was just getting to that before those four little troublemakers distracted me. Come on in, Mr. Fennell!"</p><p>      The door quietly opened and in walked a very short, pale boy with long light brown hair in a ponytail, and strangely empty hazel eyes. He was very well-dressed, in a white button-up, a brown blazer and matching slacks and a tie. His clothes looked very expensive. What was a rich kid like him doing in a school like this Charles?</p><p>Charles suddenly felt out of place in his hand-me-down jeans and beat up combat boots. He squinted. There was something oddly familiar about this guy and not in a good way. He felt as though he knew this boy from somewhere,  when he was very young. </p><p>     "Why don't you introduce yourself, Mr. Fennell?" Ms. Siewick said, "Tell us about yourself.</p><p>     The boy gave the class a beatific smile. Something seemed fake about it somehow. It didn't reach his eyes, which seemed very cold. "Hello. My name is Vincent Fennell. I'm fifteen years old and I like creative writing. I hope to become a professional novelist someday. I'm pleased to meet you all," he said in a high, clear voice. It came off as oddly robotic. It was as if he was...advertising himself almost.</p><p>      Charles' jaw dropped. Novelist? Creative writing? And C had once told Charles his real name was Vincent online. There was no way! Well if he'd known The C himself was coming to school today he certainly wouldn't be wearing a My Chemical Romance shirt and striped arm warmers. C had been very open about having a refined taste in music online. He'd humiliated himself in front of his crush Anri and his idol Vincent Fennell on the same day. <em>God I fucking hate myself, </em>he thought. </p><p>   Vincent Fennell continued with that weirdly fake smile of his. Was it a smirk? "Ms. Siewick, where would you like me to sit?" He said politely. Ms. Siewick's eyes took on that vaguely sadistic look they had at times. "One moment, dear child," she said, "I need to announce to you that Mr. Fennell here was a model student at his old school, St. Catherine's. He comes from a good Catholic family. We've spoken with his parents and decided to make him a student mentor. I think he would be a good role model for all of you. Each of you will be spending time being mentored by Mr. Fennell. </p><p>     There was a,low rumble of students whispering to each other. Bennett passed Felix a note in his typical messy scrawl. "WHAAAT? THEY MADE HIM A STUDENT AID ALREADY? I BET HIS PARENTS BRIBED THEM!" the note read. Felix simply nodded before hastily stuffing the note into his pocket. Anri and Henry exchanged confused glances.</p><p>      Charlotte grabbed Charles' sleeve. "I-I don't think I want to be mentored by this guy," she she mouthed. "I dunno, man. It's C. The C. How bad could it be?" he replied, though he seemed quite nervous  about the idea himself. "You're really just gonna trust this guy cause he's popular on the 'net? C'mon, man, there's something off about him," Q84 said. "I-I think it's not nice to judge so quickly, Q," Charlotte said quietly, "but he is intimidating." Charles nodded. </p><p>     Ms. Siewick called for order by tapping her ruler loudly on the side of her desk. "Enough! Or you all get detention!" She shouted. The class silenced themselves immediately. "As for your seating arrangements...well, let's just say there is one particular young man in need of your guidance, Mr. Fennell. Why don't you take a seat over there by Mr. Eyler?"</p><p>       "Yes, Miss Siewick," Vincent said with his fake smile still in place. He walked quietly and confidently down the rows of desks and took the empty chair in front of Charles. He turned around and gave Charles that disturbing empty smile once more. "Hi, Charles. I told you I'd see you soon," he said. </p><p>     Charles wondered what was wrong with him. Shouldn't he be excited to meet C? Instead, he felt terror and dread twisting into his gut like a knife. Charlotte seemed similarly affected.  Her eyes were wide and darting around the room. "We're going to have lots of fun, Charles!" Vincent said. The only thought running through Charles' head was, "Oh shit! Oh fuck! I'm going to die!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Charles had been dissociating fairly severely after the incident with Ms. Siewick. He scarcely remembered much after that. Only that he had detention with Charlotte after classes were over. Lucky for Q and Anri, all they got was silent lunch. </p><p>     At 4:30 pm Charles met Charlotte outside of the detention room. They were to be doing mathematics with Mr. Aiden, as it was a problem subject for both of them. Aiden's last name was Blackwood but he insisted that everyone call him Aiden. </p><p>    Aiden welcomed them both in and they sat down at a large table across from each other. He seemed nice enough,  but was very particular about how neat his classroom was and had a reputation for being fairly strict. Rumor had it that he became very fussy if his student's handwriting wasn't neat enough or if anything was left in his classroom or out of order. This was bad news for Charles and Charlotte both - neither of them were particularly neat people. </p><p>     Aiden laid two work packets in front of them. "Ah, you two troublemakers again? I hear Ms. Siewick's none too happy with either of you. I don't see why. Save for geometry and algebra your grades are satisfactory enough I suppose. In any case, I suggest that you two finish as much if these packets as you can. Ms. Siewick will dock more points the less of the packets you finish, so get as much as you can done by 7:30," Aiden said.</p><p>   Charlotte and Charles sharpened their pencils and scrawled the names and dates on their papers. "I trust that the two of you are mature enough to not mess up my classroom,  unlike Bennett and Mr. Honniker. I'll be off in the teacher's lounge, and leave you two to your work," Aiden said before closing the door. </p><p>     "G-ge-geometry? Charles....they gave me geometry. It's not even on my grade level," Charlotte said, chewing on her fingernails. Charles rubbed the back of his neck. "And they gave me algebra. It's on my grade level but I suck at this shit," he sighed. Of course they gave the two of them the kind of math they struggled with the most. At this rate, all their points would be docked and they'd both flunk.</p><p>     What they didn't know was that Charles was fairly decent at geometry and Charlotte was pretty good at algebra. "Hey," Charles whispered, "What if we just switched those packets? We'll get the majority of it done, I bet." "It's a good idea, but they'll know the difference between our handwriting," Charlotte murmured. Charles pulled out a plain spiral bound notebook from his backpack. It was all beat up with a lime green cover and a few soda stains on it. </p><p>    Charlotte made a face. "And what are you going to do with that?" she laughed. "Easy," Charles said, "We'll just do each other's work on the scratch paper here and we can write the numbers down on the worksheets. And I'll just burn the papers afterwards." Charlotte high fived him. "Alright, let's get to work," she said.</p><p>     An hour and a half later, both of them had finished their packets. Charles checked his watch. Fifteen minutes to spare until Aiden came back in from the lounge. "Do you think he'll let us leave early?" Charles asked, "I have some picket change. I could get us a soda to split from the drink machines." Charlotte paused from cleaning her space while Charles put their packets in the work tray on Aiden's spotless desk. "Don't you have that mentoring session with Vincent tonight?" Charlotte asked.</p><p>    Charles's heart thudded in his chest. "W-what?" He gasped, pupils dilated in fear. "Don't you remember he asked you at lunch?" Charlotte said with concern. Charles faintly remembered Vincent tapping him on the shoulder and offering him a dry biscuit which he accepted. "My special friend is on the schoolboard, Charles," Vincent had said, "He wants us to start our mentoring sessions right away. He'll pick you up at 7:30 sharp out front and take you to our house. He drives a black limousine. Don't be late, okay?"</p><p>     Charles began to shake. "Charles, are you okay?" Charlotte asked, giving him a much needed hug, "You look like you're having a panic attack. What's wrong?" Charles began to hyperventilate. He felt something long forgotten struggling to claw it's way to the surface of his mind. Five years old. First day of kindergarten. A pale boy with a light brown ponytail in the sandbox. Charles had approached him to say hello but stopped in horror when he got a closer look. The boy had an empty smile on his face and was gleefully tearing the wings off of ants while laughing. "Stop! Don't do that!" Charles had said, waving his hands. "We must be like gods to them," the boy said, smilingly.</p><p>    Charles shook his head. That couldn't possibly have been a young Vincent Fennell in that memory, right? There was no way. It probably wasn't even a real memory anyway. He hugged Charlotte back. "It's nothing," he said, "I'm just being stupid and paranoid." "You seem like you're scared of Vincent Fennell," Charlotte said. Charles sighed. Naive though she was, Charlotte was quite observant. He had hoped she wouldn't pick up on this, though.</p><p>    "I don't know why but the guy terrifies me," Charles whispered, "I don't know what's wrong with me. I thought I'd be excited to meet him but something about him freaks me out." Charlotte frowned. She didn't want to be judgemental of Vincent Fennell. After all, she didn't know anything about the guy. She didn't even read his stories. All she knew about him was what she heard from Charles. But her friend really did look rattled. She couldn't just brush that off.</p><p>     "Maybe it's anxiety?" She asked, "if you're that scared, you can message me and Q on Discord after. Her mom is driving me home tonight and I'm staying over." "Th-thanks," Charles said, glancing at the time on his phone. 7:25. "Oh no....I've got to go," Charles said. "What?" Charlotte asked. "Vincent said his friend is coming to pick me up out front at 7:30 sharp and not to be late," Charles said, beginning to sweat again. "Ah, okay, well keep in touch!" Charlotte said as Charles dashed out the door in a panic. "Bye, Char! Have fun with Q," he panted.</p><p>    This wasn't good. His hair was damp with sweat. His breath smelled of Dr. Pepper and the collar of his T shirt was covered in sweat. Not good. Vincent had told him online that he hated most men because most of them smelled bad and how he despised any kind of filth. Vincent Fennell was very rich and he didn't want to stink up the joint. Unfortunately there was no time to freshen up now. It was inevitable. He'd make a very bad impression if he hadn't already. </p><p>     Finally, he reached the double doors at the front. Outside was the shiny black limousine, idling loudly. It looked brand new. One of the tinted windows rolled down. In the driver's seat was a very pale man with an angular face and slicked black black hair. He was wearing dark shades that blocked out his eyes, a tophat and an expensive black pinstripe suit. </p><p>   The man paused to light a very expensive looking cigarette. He slud his sunglasses down his nose revealing a pair of bright gold eyes that vaguely resembled Charles's own, though his were more of a dull amber. "Ah, you must be young Mr. Eyler, I presume?" The older man said, only and deliberately exhaling a cloud of smoke into Charles's face. Charles stumbled back, coughing and nodded. <br/> <br/>      The man patted the seat beside him and asked him to sit down. Charles sat down in the passenger seat, feeling very self conscious and nervous. There was something oddly familiar about this guy, too. And not in a good way. The man's presence filled him with dread in a way he couldn't describe and those terrifying eyes were hard to look away from even though they were the last thing he wanted to see. </p><p>    "Excuse me, sir," Charles began, "What should I call you? You're Vincent's friend he keeps talking about, right?" The man chuckled to himself and exhaled slowly. "Ah, young Master Fennell and I are not mere friends. He lives with me in my estate and I take care of him, you know? You could say I'm like his...daddy," the man tipped his hat and smirked, "You can call me the Umbrella Man."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     Charles wished to stay silent for the majority of the ride, but Mr. Umbrella Man kept pestering him with questions. All he wanted to do was just listen to Hollywood Undead and Lil Peep like he preferred to on car rides and just tune out the world but the man would not shut up. </p><p>     "So," Umbrella Man began, "Vincent tells me he knows you quite well. He says your a fan of his work." Charles yanked out an ear bud and began sweating nervously again. "R-really now? I mean, I follow him on A03 and we talk on Discord but we've only just met in person today. He barely tells me anything about himself. I barely know the guy," Charles said. "Aaah, that's not what he tells me," Umbrella Man said, "He tells me you two used to be very close. Childhood friends. He tells me he knows everything about you. Talks about you all the time, Charles."</p><p>     An expression of horror overtook Charles's features. Not only did Charles occasionally vent to Vincent about his repeated failures to as out Henrietta but another memory was starting to flirt to the surface of his mind. A school field trip. How old were they this time? Seven? </p><p>    Sitting in the nurse's office. Charles had gotten sick from drinking expired milk and had an upset stomach. Next to him was Vincent Fennell with a scraped knee. It looked very severe, bad enough that blood was dripping onto the floor. Pebbles and woodchips were sticking out of the tattered flesh and fabric that stuck out of the wound. It made Charles feel squeamish to look at. If it had been him, he would be panicking and screaming but Vincent just sat there with an empty look in his eye. </p><p>    "Doesn't that hurt?" Charles had asked. "I can barely feel it," Vincent said with that same eerie smile. He began to pick the gravel out of his knee with his bare hands, peeling the skin back from the wound. "Please don't do that!" Charles gasped, "Just wait for the nurse." It was partly out of worry for the strange boy, part out of horror of how he could just pick apart his own flesh with no visible signs of pai like it was tissue paper. What was this guy? Terminator? </p><p>     "I kind of like watching the blood flow," Vincent said, "I like to take things apart. See how they work." He then pressed the blood droplets to his lips and locked them. "Hmm, salty," Vincent said. He leaned close to Charles,  his lips still bloodstained. "You smell good," he whispered. Charles froze like a frightened rabbit before a hungry wolf. "I'd like to taste yours," Vincent said. There was the sensation of something sharp sinking into his shoulder and then a scream before the memory slipped away.</p><p>     "My, my, did I give you a fright, dear boy?" Umbrella Man said, "You look like you're on the verge of a panic attack. That excited to reunite with your old friend, hmm?" Charles breathed in deeply, resisting the urge to give his head a shake. That had to have been a bad dream, right? Just like the other one? Surely he was just having anxious delusions because he was that excited to meet his idol in person. Maybe Scarlett was right. Maybe he was gay for the guy. Attraction feels like terror and anxiety, right? And he didn't feel terrified of Henrietta, just vaguely giddy, bashful, dreamy, and happy. Clearly he was gay. GAY. </p><p>      "Y-yeah, I'm excited, Mr. Umbrella Man," Charles said, "J-just really, really excited." "Ah, that's what I figured. Young love sure is exciting, isn't it?" Umbrella Man said with a wink. Charles recoiled and said nothing. "Well, well, here we are," Umbrella Man said, pulling into a long, winding driveway. Atop a large hill, Charles could just make out a large Victorian mansion. A mansion? How could he set foot in a place like this when he lived in a cockroach-infested hole-in-the-wall apartment with his mother and was wearing ripped jeans?</p><p>     A tall man in a black suit with chin length black hair opened Charles's door for him. Charles shakily got out. "Th-thank you," he said quietly as Umbrella Man got out on his own and locked the doors. "Oh, no need to thank him," Umbrella Man said, "That's Mr. Gabriel Blackwoode, our doorman. He's just doing his job." Mr. Blackwoode smiled and tipped his hat to him. </p><p>     Charles took a close look at him as he stepped out and followed Umbrella Man up the stairs to the entrance of his mansion. Same big, dark eyes as Aiden. Were they related? Who knew.</p><p>    Mr. Blackwoode followed them both up and unlocked and opened the house door for them. He gave Umbrella Man a strange smile. Why? All he knew was that Umbrella Man winked at him in an almost flirtatious manner. They stepped inside.</p><p>      Charles's jaw dropped at the sheer side of the mansion's interior. Overhead was a large chandelier that appeared to be made from genuine crystal by the way it glittered. The carpet was a deep red that was gilded at the corners and the room was high-ceilinged. And this was merely the foyer!</p><p>    Charles's paused shyly. "I'm...dirty," he said quietly, "I don't want to get mud on the carpet." "Oh, no need to worry about that from now on," Umbrella Man said, "Mr. Blackwood will take you upstairs and get you all cleaned up. We have a change of clothes for you waiting upstairs."</p><p>     A change of clothes? A bath? "I don't understand," Charles said, "I thought I was just here for a mentoring session with Vincent." "And mentored you will be!" Umbrella Man said, "Ms. Siewick had a discussion with your mother. She and your mother agreed that you need something a bit more intensive. To turn you into a more...gentlemanly sort. You'll be living here with us now. We've already had your luggage transferred here and you'll be sharing a room with Vincent. </p><p>       "But-but-I! What about my mom? What about  my kitten?!" Charles stammered a little too loudly. At home, he had a tiny black kitten he'd rescued from the school and named Lil Squeak. Mr. Blackwood pursed his lips. "Don't worry about your mother, Mr. Eyler. My brother Ignatius will see to it that she and your kitten are in good hands," he said. </p><p>   Though Charles cared quite a bit about his sick mother (though she despised him for not being like his sister Scarlett and viewed him as a disappointment) he was relieved to not have to live with her. Lil Squeak however was another story. The kitten had bonded exclusively with him and Charlotte,  who had helped clean him off after pulling him out of the dumpster. He was scared of everyone else. Also, he didn't like being away from Charles for very long and would meow constantly and scratch at the door if he was away. </p><p>     "If I'm going to live here, why can't I bring my kitten?" Charles asked timidly. Umbrella Man made an expression of disgust. Mr. Blackwood clicked his tongue. At that moment, Vincent Fennell emerged from the living room, looking pristine as ever. "Because I don't like animals, Charles. They'd get dirt and hair everywhere. I can't have that," he said. </p><p>    Charles looked as though he was about to cry but merely pulled his hood over his face. "I see," he said quietly. So they wouldn't even let him bring anything from home? Just a new bed, new clothes, new toys, new everything just like that? </p><p>     Mr. Blackwoode clapped his hands. "Well, boys, isn't this an exciting occasion? Starting over just like this? Why don't you two go upstairs. Vincent and I will get you all fixed up!"</p><p>     Charles froze on the spot. "I appreciate the offer,  but I can bathe myself," he said quietly. Charles had a crippling case of gymnophobia, the fear of being seen in the nude. Particularly by strangers. "Don't be a stranger, Charles," Vincent said with that disturbing empty smile of his. Was it a leer? Mr. Blackwoode frowned again. He glanced up and noticed that Umbrella Man was quite deliberately blocking the door, Mr. Blackwood the stairway, and Vincent the entrance to the living room. He was trapped.</p><p>     "If you don't strip down, we'll have to do it for you. Can't have anything dirty in the house and that includes your clothes and shoes, Mr. Eyler," Umbrella Man said. Charles's eyes widened in horror. What was this, a fucking mental asylum? Only then did he realize that both Mr. Blackwoode and Umbrella Man were armed. Mr. Blackwoode carried what appeared to be a rapier sword at his belt and Umbrella Man a revolver strapped to his thigh. Though Vincent was unarmed, if that horrific memory held true he had a bite force of a great white shark. He really was screwed. Shamefully he began to remove his clothes.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     After Charles had stripped, he covered himself as best he could with his hands. All those people staring at him. Disgusting. Humiliating. Gabriel Blackwood eyed him in a way that made him feel sick to his stomach before offering him a white robe to wear. He accepted it with relief and tied it shut.</p><p>    "Well, what are you waiting for, Charles? It's time for a bath," Vincent said, still with that disturbing smile that now looked like a smirk. "R-right," Charles said, crossing his arms. He did not like how transparent that robe was under the light but it was better than nothing. </p><p>     He glanced behind him to see a maid placing his discarded clothes into a trash bag. "Why are you throwing them out?" He asked, "That shirt's brand new, it can be washed." The maid simply shook her head. "Oh, no, no, honey," she said with a heavy French accent, wagging her finger at him as if he'd already done something bad. Charlotte had gotten him that shirt for Christmas two years ago. It was one if the few things he had that wasn't one of his father's old hand-me-downs. </p><p>    "We have better things upstairs for you, little lamb," Mr. Blackwood said, tut-tutting to himself. "The house rules are that one shall dress and carry themselves as a gentleman, Charles," Vincent said cheerfully. "Young Master Fennell knows your exact clothing sizing," Mr. Blackwoode said, "Everything is hand-tailored to fit you perfectly. Isn't that nice? Isn't that much better than those baggy old hand-me-downs?"</p><p>    "I suppose so," Charles said quietly as he followed Mr. Blackwoode and Vincent up the red carpeted stairs. How the fuck did Vincent know his clothing sizes? The few things Charles had at home that weren't hand-me-downs had been hard to find. He was a bit oddly proportioned when compared to most men. At only 5'6, he was considered very short for his age. Most of the other boys towered over him. And yet he was strangely skinny and lanky, which gave the illusion of being tall. Oftentimes he was forced to wear pants from the girl's junior section because even the largest size in the boy's section was too wide in the waist and buttocks, but too short in the legs. It was pretty embarrassing, to be honest. Many people mistook him for a girl because of this as well as his height, which he was incredibly self conscious about. Even his own mother! </p><p>     He was just pondering where on earth Vincent and Mr. Umbrella Man were able to find clothes suited to his proportions when he reached the top of the stairs. "This is my personal bathroom,  Charles," Vincent said, gesturing at a white door on the left. He pulled it open. It was huge for a bathroom! A glistening porcelain clawed foot tub, a long counter with two sinks with golden spigots, a toilet with a built in bidet, a plush white rug on the floor, and a separate shower.</p><p>    Charles's jaw dropped. His cramped apartment had a single bathroom roughly the size of a walk in closet. The tile was peeling away in some areas and the shower was so narrow that he bonked his head on the other wall if he bent over to pick up the shampoo. And Vincent had one all too himself! Where on earth did Umbrella Man get this kind of money?</p><p>     Mr. Blackwood handed them both a pair of fluffy white towels and washcloths, as well as a fresh bar of soap. What was this, The fucking Holiday Inn? "Well, I will leave you two to your bathing," Mr. Blackwoode said. "W-wait? Us?" Charles stammered. "Well, little one, you practically live on the street. Can't expect a boy like you to know how to clean himself," Mr. Blackwoode said with a smirk, "Don't worry, Vincent will help you."</p><p>     Mr. Blackwoode closed the door on them both. By the time Charles turned around, feeling simultaneously patronized and terrified, Vincent was already undressed and turning on the water. Charles looked away awkwardly, refusing to drop his robe. He didn't want to see this. </p><p>    "Come on, Charles, don't be a stranger," Vincent said, suddenly standing way too close for comfort. Charles jerked away, hitting the back of his head on the corner of the wall. Vincent dug his nails into Charles's wrist and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "No more running from me," Vincent whispered, removing Charles's robe in a single motion and dragging him into the bathtub. </p><p>    The water was scalding but Vincent Fennell's grip on him from behind was like iron. He felt something poke him in the back and almost shrieked. Vincent clapped a hand over Charles's mouth, spun him around and glared at him.</p><p>     He reached towards Charles and placed a hand against his face almost gently. "If you try to scream, try to run, or squirm away from me," he whispered,  reaching upwards and trailing off. His fingers found Charles right eye and pushed back the lids, causing his eye to bulge outward. Charles knew he should defend himself. He wanted to. He wanted to shove Vincent Fennell off of him and run away down the stairs, out the door, and back to his cockroach infested apartment, naked or not. "If you resist, I'll tear out your eyes," Vincent said coldly, "Understand?"</p><p>     Charles nodded and Vincent mercifully let go of him. "Good dog," he said. Now that Charles knew who he was dealing with,  he knew better than to respond. "But I'll make you a God, yet, Charles, " Vincent said as he began to lather the washcloth with soap. He scrubbed. First at Charles's face and ears, then his neck, then his arms and legs, then the rest of his body. Charles wanted to flinch away when Vincent got to his groin but knew better. Why was he spending such a long time scrubbing there anyway?</p><p>     It was all coming back to him now. Vincent Fennell used to live across the street from him. They went to the same preschool, kindergarten, and elementary school. Up until second grade, then Vincent's parents had disappeared after leaving him alone in the house one night never to return. He went to live elsewhere. </p><p>     His parents used to arrange play dates for the two of them. Sometimes Anri or Charlotte would come along, too, but Vincent would get very angry if he saw Charles talk to either girl for too long. He remembered Vincent slapping Charlotte across the face and thinking that somehow he had done it. He had apologized profusely afterwards and then distanced himself from Charlotte, insisting that he was dangerous, despite Charlotte saying over and over again that it wasn't him. A vague glimpse of seeing Vincent Fennell following him home, a knife in hand. Finding his pet gerbil dead the next morning as if something had stabbed him.</p><p>     Vincent Fennell cornering him behind the cubbies in kindergarten, pinching his nose closed and covering his mouth. Charles, gasping for air. Vincent sneering at him and saying, "I saw you having lunch with Henrietta Warhol yesterday.  What, do you like her or something? If you do anything with that girl, I'll kill her. Understand?" Charles nodded, gasping again as Vincent let go of his nose and mouth, allowing him to breathe. "Remember, Charles. You said we'd be friends forever. You and me are alone in this world. A red string of fate binds us together. You're mine," Vincent had said.</p><p>    Vincent began rougly shampooing Charles's hair as another memory resurfaced. Sitting next to Vincent at lunch while he showed a bunch of kids his sticker collection. Charles smiling at him and saying, "Looks like a lot of people really like you, Vincent." Vincent asking to speak with him later after school. Alone. Charles had met up with him by the swingset instead if walking home with Charlotte like usual. </p><p>    "The truth is, Charles...I don't care about any of those people," he had said. "Why?" Charles had asked. He was secretly jealous of how much people seemed to like Vincent. Particularly Henrietta. "People love you, but you just ignore them. I'd trade places with you in an instant," he had said. "You really are naive, huh?" Vincent had said, "So naive. None of those people can understand me. They're so...boring and devoid of intellect to me. They don't see how utterly pointless this entire world is. They might as well be NPCs or robots." "Don't talk about my friends like that!" Charles had snapped.</p><p>     Vincent had then gotten in his face. "Oh? Are you naive enough to think Charlotte actually likes hanging out with you? She probably makes fun of you all the time. What? You thought Henrietta liked you? That girl is out of your league. Not to mention,  I bet she prefers girls. And Q84? Ha! Q doesn't like anyone. When will you realize that I'm the only person who truly cares even an inkling for you, Charles Eyler?" He had said.</p><p>    Charles had been bullied quite a bit at school for various things. Being messy, having hair that didn't stay in place, looking "girly" compared to other boys, being scrawny and sickly. Henrietta's sister Anri had pretended to ask him out that day as a prank. Scarlett had whacked him on the back of head and called him an idiot. Most everyone had laughed. For a moment there he was almost willing to believe Vincent Fennell. </p><p>    "People will come and go, Charles,  but I'll be here with you...forever," Vincent had said. He had handed Charles a red friendship bracelet and pulled back his own sleeve. "See?" He said, "I have one, too. Friends?" Charles pulled a forced smile though he was on the verge of crying. He held out his wrist. "Friends," he said solemnly. Vincent had then tied the friendship bracelet around Charles's wrist, almost a little too tightly. "Never take it off," he had said.</p><p>   "There we go, all done!" Vincent said happily. Charles looked down. Why was his skin all red? It was as if it had been scrubbed raw and the scent of that soap was so strong that it smelled like bleach. He'd scarcely been mentally present for most of the bath, lost in the past as usual. </p><p>    Vincent pulled the plug from the drain and wrapped a towel around his waist. "Come on, Charles, get up!" He demanded. Charles had been zoning out, watching the soap suds and water spiral down the drain. Was the water tinged red? Why did his backside hurt? Did something happen?</p><p>     It was no matter now. Vincent Fennell, apparently impatient with Charles's delayed reaction had yanked him to his feet and began drying him off. Charles glanced down, once again noting the redness of his skin but also that all of the hair on his body was shaved off. He was used to shaving his underarms, public hair and the little dark hairs that sometimes grew on his chin and upper lip, but even the peach fuzz on his arms was gone.</p><p>    "You...shaved me?" He asked, puzzled.  "I thought it was...kind of unsanitary," Vincent said, making a scrunched up face as if he was disgusted by the very concept. It was then that Charles noticed that Vincent didn't have hair anywhere but his head? Did he also shave off every hair on his body or did he just naturally look like that? It was odd.</p><p>     "I apologize for scrubbing so hard, Charles, " Vincent said, "But you were filthy. You were in a filthy environment. I couldn't take the risk." The sneer on his face didn't say sorry but Charles accepted the apology nonetheless. </p><p>     Charles saw his new clothes laid out for him neatly folded on the counter. A black pinstripe suit. Kind of like Umbrella Man's. Odd. It wasn't his style but he got dressed anyway. Vincent watched intently as Charles dressed himself. Why, he actually almost looked his type all dressed up like this! His hair was still too long, still kind of messy and of course there was that troublesome personality of his to deal with. But if he squinted Charles Eyler almost looked like a young Umbrella Man, now. If Eyler men actually bothered to take care of themselves,  they'd be quite handsome in his eyes. If he pulled the right strings, if he played his cards right...Vincent Fennell could get exactly what he wanted.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, you know how in the HC games there are multiple versions of a character? For instance,  Henrietta Warhol of Heaven's Gate vs Anri Warhol of episode 2? Well, I consider them separate characters, much as I consider Vincent Fennell and Vincent Wordsworth to be separate characters. I also consider C to be his own thing. Not a vessel that Charles uses based off his idealized version of Vincent. He comes off as his own unique character to me, not some fusion of Charles and Vincent. As a matter of fact I simply regard him as one of the Vincent's. In any case, they'll be all featured here for the most part, hence why Henrietta Warhol is mentioned as having a mean sister named Anri with black hair. Hence why you have multiple Charlotte (Q84 and episode 2 Charlotte) interacting. As for Charles, I've "blended" the false real and true real Charles but rely more heavily upon his characterization in Heaven's Gate.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    Charles followed Vincent quietly into another room on the upper story. The floor of the hallway was black and white tile, not unlike a checkerboard.  Also not unlike the suits he and Vincent were wearing,  which Charles noted to be stiff and uncomfortable. On occasion he did like a more formal look but generally it was something he could move around in a bit easier. Vincent was dressed in a pure white spotless suit, him in a jet black one. Why it resembled a replica of Umbrella Man's was a mystery to him.</p><p>   The room they were standing in was black and white tile as well, and mostly empty, save for a chest of drawers, a red counter, and a red chair that looked like something out of a barber's shop. Vincent stood in the doorway, perfectly poised. White shirt. White tie. White socks. White slacks. White shoes. White jacket. White gloves. He resembled a caustic ray of sunlight, or bones, bleached white by lying in the sun. Harsh purity. Cruel innocence. The presence of icy winter sunlight. </p><p>    "This is where I get my hair cut, Charles," he said, his sharp voice cutting through the warm air like a knife. Charles was very out of it. Whatever had happened to him in the bath tub had him all worn out. All he could manage to say was, "You have a barbershop? In your house?" "Well, where else would I get it cut?" Vincent said with a roll of his eyes, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from his pristine white gloves, "It's not like I can expect the barbershop downtown to do a decent job. You get what you pay for. "</p><p>     At that moment, Aiden Blackwoode stepped in. Charles gasped, "Aiden? You're part of this, too?" Aiden simply shrugged. "Whatever do you mean, young sir?  I live in one of the suites on the lower story. Much nicer than that dreadful place I was staying at before. In return, I work as Mr. Umbrella Man and young Master Fennell's butler. My sister Susan Blackwoode is the maid. And you, Mr. Eyler, are due for a trim!" He said, pulling out a pair of scissors and a fine toothed black comb. </p><p>"I like my hair how it is," Charles said, staring at the ground. First his clothes? Now this? "We have a very clean cut look required around here for Mr. Fennell's protégés and I've been told that you, Mr. Eyler, are quite the fixer-upper. </p><p>     Charles scowled but sat down anyway. Fixer upper? Really? Who's fucking idea was this, anyway? His hair wasn't even that long. Sure, it had a tendency to be a bit unruly if he didn't meticulously straighten it but it wasn't that bad. </p><p>    Aiden stepped up behind him and raised the chair. For a moment he saw what almost looked like pity in Aiden's eyes. Then fear as they flicked back to Vincent Fennell. But it was quickly replaced with an empty eyed expression of bland neutrality. "Unfortunately Mr. Eyler," Aiden said, running a comb through Charles's wet hair, "Wavy hair is quite difficult to work with. I can see why you leave it a bit long on one side. It flatters your face shape but you'll be requiring something a bit more...professional if you are to be mentored by Mr. Fennell.  He's quite particular about his subjects."</p><p>     "Subjects? What do you mean by that?" Charles asked as Aiden began snipping away at his bangs with perfect precision. "Ah, you don't know," Aiden sighed, "Of course nobody's told you. Mr. Fennell and Mr. Umbrella Man have lived here for about six months now. Ever since the rules on the schoolboard changed, various students have been sent to us one by one. We're to train you up to be ladies and gentlemen. Upstanding members of society. But Mr. Fennell has special plans for y-"</p><p>    Aiden's speech was cut off by a look from Vincent in the mirror. Standing behind Aiden. The way he was looking at the guy reminded Charles of something out of a scene from A Clockwork Orange. A slow, menacing, unblinking, upward gaze. <em>If looks could fucking kill,</em> Charles thought.</p><p>    "Anyway, that's not important," Aiden said, continuing to snip away at Charles's hair, "What is important though is that you're due for a dye job after this." Charles raised an eyebrow. Dye job? His hair was blackish brown. He liked it the way it was.</p><p>     "What color do you want to dye it?" He asked. "Jet black," Aiden said, "Vincent wants to dye his own hair perfectly white some day. He likes the contrast. Charles shrugged. It wasn't like he could say or do anything about it now. He held his head down as Aiden trimmed up the back of his hair. "All done, time to dye it now," Aiden said. Charles didn't even bother to look on the mirror.</p><p>      Charles simply dissociated while Aiden applied the dark dye to his hair, let it sit, then rinsed it out. He was bone tired. Too far gone to question anything at this point. Why was he so tired? The minutes slipped by like sand through an hourglass. Before long he was sitting up again after Aiden had rinsed the post-dye conditioner from his hair and sponged off his face. He combed Charles's hair into place.</p><p>    "Ta-da! Take a look at yourself. I think I did good this time, what say you, Mr. Fennell?" Whatever Vincent Fennell saw, he liked it. For once, a genuine smile seemed to overtake his features, and then a dark expression that he couldn't quite place. Hunger? Or was it desire? </p><p>    Charles Eyler glanced up at the mirror Aiden offered him. What he saw unnerved him. His hair was the same unnatural black and slicked back style as Mr. Umbrella Man's. </p>
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